About Landlocked: Landlocked is an interactive blog of Detours magazine. Landlocked bloggers seek to highlight Midwest events and culture with an international perspective. Comments and questions are always welcome!
There came a time in Beijing when I no longer strolled with my mouth hanging slightly open.
Instead, I whizzed through hutongs on the gravel road, my tires dodging rocks, bricks, and dirt piles, fruit and vegetables and people, but most of all, other bikes and cars. Squeezing between pedestrians and cars took more aggressiveness than skill because freezing like a deer in the headlights would turn one into mincemeat.
Merging into traffic, my thumb consistently placed near the bell (I loved using that thing) on my handlebar, I wound around busses and taxis, careful that other bikers passed by safely. I sped up to avoid being sideswiped or cutoff, but when I realized that I was not comfortable trying to fit three bikers between a stopped bus and oncoming vehicles, I chose the sidewalk.
One of the greatest lessons that I have learned in my three years in America is that there exists a tremendous lack of understanding and a generally high rate of hilarious stereotyping on both sides of the globe.
In Nepal many people still think America is all about skyscrapers, beaches, big cars and one-night-stands. America is imaginatively reduced to be made of New York City on one side and Los Angeles on the other; while everything in the middle is a big farm and everyone is a cowboy. Similarly, a surprisingly high number of people in America assume that just because Mt. Everest is in Nepal I have climbed it. And another thing, just because I am from South Asia doesn’t mean I can help you with your math homework or fix your computer.
There are many reasons why ill-informed people think of South Asians in terms of stereotypes, so I will list a few of these stereotypes and try to dispel them .
One question I've asked some of my friends is the origin of the little tag line that says “Show-me State” on every car license plate in Missouri. Everyone knows that is Missouri's slogan but none of them could answer why Missouri is the “show-me state”. I decided to research about the origin of the slogan on the internet – it turns out to be an interesting story.
According to the Missouri Secretary of State website, the “show-me” slogan has several theories associated with its origin. The most popular theory is attributed to Willard Duncan Vandiver, Missouri's U.S. Congressman from 1897 to 1903, when he attended a naval banquet in Philadelphia, and delivered a speech there on 1899:
I can't tell you how many mornings I dreaded rolling out of bed in Beijing because I knew I would have to talk.
My host mom loved to start the day with breakfast and a conversation. She would give me a terrifyingly quick mouthful of Mandarin, watch me struggle, slow down her speech and then patiently listen. Her efforts were in good faith, but they overstressed my groggy brain.
Words would catch in my throat as I would frantically try to muster verbs, subjects, nouns, exclamations—anything I could use to string together a sentence, half a sentence, or a meaningful cluster of phrases. I even searched the nearly bare dining room for objects that matched what I wanted to say.
Mercat de la Boqueria—or the Boqueria Market in Barcelona is a lively, modern food market, purposely situated off of la Rambla, a heavily-pedestrian-travelled road, to bring in the most clientele. I set out early in the morning (relatively speaking, given “Spanish time,” getting up at 8 am is quite early), to watch the goings-on before the market becomes inundated with pesky tourists.
Photo submitted by: Megan Burik
I realize that I myself am a tourist, but I have this strange inclination to not consider myself one. Perhaps this is because I currently boast a Spanish address, or speak a little of the language, or am not nearly as rude as some I’ve seen. Despite my foreign nationality, La Boqueria rewarded my early arrival with observations only available in the morning.
I arrived at the market. The energy, the zest—the vendors readying their wares. Cutting mushrooms, slicing fat off large slabs of meat. Orders taken on tiny notepads as vendors yell quantities to men with carts. There is an art to the assortment of fruit—the colors like rainbows of juice. Peel, press-labeling the meat, cheese in size, in price, in marketability. Stories traded by locals with smiling mouths of satisfaction. Keepers smoke while they wipe a display case clean—sweeping the walkway around the shop. Then I noticed the wide-eyed (like always) tourists, eyes spread to try to take in the array of colors, people.
Typhoon season doesn’t happen in Beijing, it happens in Shanghai, a night train ride away. Beijing is hot and sticky. Beijingers hide under their shade umbrellas. Beijing skin toasts under the morning sun on good days, and pores fill with dirty air on not-so-good days. Beijing walkers stare at bikers with envy as their speed circulates a light breeze. We’re blinded by the skyscrapers, teased by billboards of oceanside provinces miles away.
When it rains, we are grateful.
I was relieved by the light drizzle that had dampened the city as I began my 20 minute trek home for work. The water barely grazed my arms as I stopped at an ice cream stand to buy a treat for the walk. But as I crossed the intersection and took note of the locals in raincoats pedaling a bit faster, the rain started to pick up. By the time I had nearly finished my Magnum, the pelting rain forced me under an overhang only two blocks away from where I began walking. My glasses were smudged and my dress had begun to stick uncomfortably to my body as I plotted my next move.
I was waiting a week for a rain like this, so I decided to brave the weather, and slosh through the flowing water that now covered the streets.
But the Chinese won’t let a foreigner melt in the rain. It wasn’t long before I met a guy who had enough pity for me and offered me his umbrella as we were crossing the street. I crouched under the safe haven as the much shorter Asian dressed casually in flip-flops, a black jacket, skinny jeans, and a baseball cap led the way to the stairwell where soaked bikers had already began to line up. My Chinese wasn't fluent, so my umbrella carrier and I made only brief attempts to get to know more about each other under the bridge. I discovered he was around my age and had dropped out of college to be a singer. He learned that I was American (I love America! he said) and that I was teaching English. We mostly stood in silence, occasionally glancing at each other, anxiously waiting for the rain to stop, and taking turns holding the rainbow-colored umbrella.
Soon, his brother and girlfriend showed up with another umbrella and they accompanied me another block to my street corner. I insisted on departing at this point. “We want your friendship!” they said warmly as we said our goodbyes and parted ways. I continued the rest of the way alone and once again without cover while the rain dropped to a slow drizzle. Careful not to slip on the treacherous, water-coated concrete, I finally made it home and was greeted by a surprised, but laughing, host mom.
In the midst of explaining my earlier adventures to her, she made a motion that I had something on my face. I quickly went to a mirror and discovered that my mouth was painted with remnants of the chocolate ice cream. I looked like a drowned rat that just dug through the leftovers of someone's picnic.
And thus, I suppose, first impressions aren't always the right ones.
The east coast is famous for seafood, and when I think of food from the south, fried chicken is where it’s at. However, the cuisine of the Midwest is much more diverse. With its strong German and Italian influences and its rich agriculture, food in the Midwest takes on many forms.
Head to Cincinnati, Oh. and taste their Skyline Chili. This is not your typical spicy Texas Chili though. Here it is made with ground beef and features different seasonings including cinnamon, and it is often served over spaghetti with cheese and onions. Skyline Chili was invented by a Greek immigrant in 1922.
Other Midwest favorites include sandwiches. In Indiana breaded pork tenderloin sandwiches are prized. They are served on a bun with lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise and mustard. The Midwestern state of Nebraska is also home to a treasured sandwich. The Runza sandwich, brought to Nebraska by German-speaking immigrants from Russia, is made from baked yeast dough that completely encases a filling of beef, cabbage or sauerkraut, with onions. A final famous sandwich in the Midwest is the Chicago style hotdog. These are usually beef based hotdogs that are never served with ketchup. They are often sold from stands around the city’s many streets.
One of the more popular figures from the Midwestern area is Walt Disney. Walt was born in Chicago, Ill., in 1901. Walt’s father, Elias, moved the family to a farm located in Marceline, Missouri when Walt was four. It was on the farm in Marceline that Walt developed his love of drawing. He was once paid by a local neighbor to draw the neighbor’s horse.
The Disney’s remained in Marceline for four more years, before moving to Kansas City, Mo. in 1911. There, Walt was introduced to the world of motion pictures and vaudevilles. During his younger years, Walt would take Saturday courses at the Kansas City Art Institute, and was also a regular visitor of Electric Park. Walt would return to Chicago for his teenage years, taking night courses at the Chicago Art Institute while he attended McKinley High School during the day.
Clearly we know the rest of Walt’s story. He would go on to revolutionize the film industry as well as the cartoon industry. He created one of the most iconic characters in the film industry, Mickey Mouse, and would also win 26 academy awards, the most in the history of the ceremony. His hand print can be seen anytime you watch a Pixar movie or any animated film in general.
Catching a whiff of spontaneity in the air, I joined a friend on a trip to Morocco. My ignorance about the country was only surpassed by my excitement to explore it, and packing my most conservative clothing as advised by a travel blog, I hopped on a plane.
Photo provided by: Megan Burik
We went to Marrakesh, the largest city in Morocco. The city is essentially divided into the old section and the new section, the old section inside the Medina and the new section radiates from the Medina. Surrounded by walls meant to fortify the city against ancient enemies, the Medina houses the heart of Marrakesh-- teeming with interlocking veins of meandering alleys. Vendors haggle with visitors over the tiniest trinkets to intricately woven rugs beneath the shadow of the Koutoubia Mosque tower. The air is dank with scents of life, mixing smells of everything from the tender lamb rotating on skewers to the donkey droppings in the streets. Above the playing of mock snake-charmers, the haunting intervals of the call to prayer sound throughout the city several times a day, beckoning to the followers of Allah.
Photo provided by: Megan Burik
My enjoyment of the vivacity of the open markets and gypsy musicians was only overshadowed in a small way by my observations about Moroccan women. I cannot say for certain what stance involving women is official in Morocco, I can only share my brief observations. Most of the native women, especially the older women, dressed in long, loose clothing. Some of the younger women appeared more “Westernized” (whatever that term is supposed to mean) and dressed in jeans.
The best thing about being a human is our ability to feel compassion without any regard to natural or imaginative boundaries. Mitrata-Nepal Foundation for Children in St. Louis, Mo. is one such organization that is helping to create a better environment for hundreds of children in Nepal. Founded in 2005, this organization provides shelter, medical care and educational opportunities for underprivileged children in Nepal. Through its fundraising activities it links children in Nepal with sponsors, and supports a group home for children in Kathmandu run by the Mitrata Nepal Foundation (an NGO in Nepal).
Photo from: http://mitrata.org/Default.aspx
The organization was founded in St. Louis in 2005 by Dr. Christine Schutz of Logan University and Dr. Nancy Williger in collaboration with Mitrata Nepal Foundation in Kathmandu. It is unique in its approach toward child welfare, because its main focus is the one on one relationship between child and sponsor. By doing so, it not only provides a home through financial aid but also provides the child with a family and an emotional support system.
Another reason why the Mitrata-Nepal Foundation is distinctive is because it supports these children into adulthood, assisting them in becoming educated and independent. Seeing a child into adulthood is important to complete the mission of the organization. Doing so decreases the chances of a child being somewhat stranded half way into his education. To accomplish this, Mitara-Nepal Foundation has five basic methods: 1) Child sponsorship 2) Operational support 3) Career development and scholarship 4) Technical assistance 5) Cultural travel.
